My body felt like it was on fire and I shivered, regretting that I was wearing one of my nicer business suits. I’d paid nearly 800 dollars for it only a week before, a special little present to myself, paid for by my lunchtime liaisons. I knew it would be ruined and that thought, for some reason, seemed almost the hardest to bear. I would have cried, but I didn’t. I made up my mind that resisting this would only hurt me more. I could hardly stand seeing those men, stroking their pricks around me like schoolboys at a proverbial circle jerk. They were drinking, laughing, and joking. I took a deep breath and somehow managed to smile, inviting them to do it. To masturbate on my face and spoil me with their disgusting seed. It was a terrible thing, I know, to have to pretend I was enjoying it, that I wanted it. I thanked each man as he approached, sometimes standing on tip-toe, and arching his back. They would jerk and throb and sometimes cum would spew out in a gush of heat, sometimes it would spray hard and thick, and sometimes just dribble out.
They painted my face for over an hour, some of them jerking off two and three times. My face was a mask of ejaculate making my makeup run and adding color as it streaked down my cheeks. The stuff burned my eyes and I had tears to mix in with the sloppy sticky mess. But still I smiled, tilting my head to catch their cum on my lips, chin, forehead, nose, cheeks, even in my ears, and in my hair. It was everywhere. I felt like I was getting a facial, a mudpack or something exotic to make me beautiful, but this was something else entirely. I must have looked terrible, with all that slimy goo running down into the pan I held.
It dripped down my neck, staining my blouse and blazer. Onto my skirt and no matter how carefully I tried to catch it in the pan, some little bit always seemed to escape. But that pan was getting full. I had to move carefully as it sloshed inside, so I wouldn’t spill the whole thing all over myself. It stank with the male musk unique to sperm and I actually smiled a little I think, recalling how that overpowering scent had once almost made me ill. Now I hardly noticed it.
I smiled for the camera repeatedly and pushed out my tongue for those who wanted to cum there, taking the ejaculate in my mouth and then spitting it out so it ran down my chin into the pan. I tried to swallow as little as I could and I found my mouth filling with saliva, so that I was spitting that out as well, even when I had nothing to speak of in my mouth. When at long last they were finished, my arms and shoulders aching from that position I’d been in for so long, they brought out a large glass pitcher, like a beer pitcher, and I carefully poured the contents of the pan into it.
I don’t know how much the pitcher held, probably 8 big glasses worth, and it was about two thirds full. The substance looked gross, a pale yellowish mixture of some 40 men’s semen. A girl gave me a large mixing stick and I stirred it around, smiling for the cameras. Then it was time to drink it. They didn’t give me a glass, instead I would just use the rounded pouring lip that was molded into the pitcher’s rim. I tilted it up, trying to forget what it was I was drinking, trying to become deaf and blind to the men who sat and stood around me, filming it and laughing. The girls, the hostesses who giggled a little nervously, were undoubtedly telling each other that they would never do such a disgusting thing.
But I did it. I took it down my throat into my unprepared stomach in one large swallow after another. I would take a mouthful and lower the pitcher, holding the cooling spooge in my mouth and try to swallow it without retching. It was rich and nasty, with a texture like snot, thickening slightly even as it sat there. My stomach was churning, the sperm settling inside me and making me feel sick. I ignored it, forcing more down and feeling bloated as I swallowed a lot of air as well. I needed to swallow three or four times just to get a mouthful down and keep it there. In between I would pause, occasionally belch and that would bring a slight gag, a little spasm in my body. But the guys didn’t notice, they just cheered me on until I had drank the entire contents.
I put the pitcher down and closed my eyes, taking short shallow breaths. I felt like a gutter slut, the worst kind of woman in the world. I imagined my friends and family back home hearing of this, or seeing pictures, and I felt the tears coming again. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done, for no other reason than a bunch of perverted Japanese men had wanted me to. I was changing and as I sat there, crying with impotent anger and humiliation it was a change for the worse.
The bad thing was that no one there, not even my closest friends from work, understood what I was feeling. They thought I’d enjoyed my birthday present. That I was too happy to speak or something and that incredibly stupid thought made me laugh. Of course that only spurred them on and I was grateful when one of the girls brought me a drink. I was still covered with sperm, now drying to a tacky mask and one of the guys pulled up my blouse, exposing my tummy so they could see it. In no time I was undressed completely in front of the crowd and everyone it seemed wanted to touch me. My stomach mostly, squeezing it as if they could feel all that sperm inside me, but also playing with my ripe full breasts and spreading my legs to play with my shaved pussy.
It wasn’t long before they had me down on the plastic, with my legs spread so I could be gangbanged. I was so far gone I didn’t protest, just endured it. It even felt good at times and I had a number of small orgasms while the men took their turns, then I was turned over to give them better access. A couple of guys pushed me down to straddle one man’s cock while a moment later someone was behind me, pushing his penis into my ass. Another cock found my mouth and I had cocks in both hands. I felt like a porn star or something and the thought reminded me that all of this was being filmed, but I couldn’t do anything about it. When one man came another was right there with a hard and eager cock. The only time I really moved at all was to let someone slide out from beneath me so another could take his place, a totally wanton slut and I pushed everything else out of my mind.
It was my first gangbang and amazingly enough I was actually a little proud of myself when it was over. The men were well and truly spent and I was a mess. Sperm was running from my overflowing cunt and my asshole loose and wet, a little sore, but I must have had a gallon of sperm up my rectum by then. I’d swallowed a lot and I was literally covered from head to toe with the stuff. I looked like a drowned rat, I supposed, and I just wore my skirt and blazer home, using my expensive new blouse to clean myself up a little in the back of the taxi. The driver didn’t seem too happy.
Needless to say, pictures of my birthday party quickly made their way around the company every department had their own album of them and it was so bizarre. I was signing autographs on occasion, penning my name across 8×10 blowups of my face covered in ejaculate, or getting double penetrated. This was a culture in serious need of something; I don’t know what but something. I found it to be embarrassing generally, but after a while I largely ignored it.
Everything changed the night I was to accompany a small group of businessmen to a club in Yokohama. It turned out to be a BDSM sex club, of all things, and I was very shocked at some of the things I witnessed. All of the girls working the club were in fetish gear, beautiful and expensive PVC and leather of all styles and colors. I was dressed normally in a conservative business suit, navy blue with a white silk blouse, and notably the only female customer in the place. I was escorting one of our company VP’s and a couple business associates he wanted to impress, and I had very few illusions as to what my duties would include later in the evening. Both of the executive’s guests had already heard of the gaijin Milky Girl who worked for our company and I’d blushed furiously at the realization that my reputation was spreading throughout the Japanese business community. My boss had merely chuckled and assured the two men that everything they had heard about me was true.
The club wasn’t a large one, but such things rarely are in Japan, where space is at a premium. There was a circular stage raised in the center and seating for perhaps 50 people around it. As you’d expect, there were chairs and small tables lit with candles, tall and thick and made of red wax. It was frightfully expensive to get in, 30,000 yen each, about 300 dollars, but my boss didn’t even flinch. There was no charge for me, like most clubs in Japan, if a woman was allowed to enter at all, then her admission was free. Once inside, it was an open bar drinks were at no charge and there were numerous small snacks available. But the real interest was the stage shows, 15-30 minutes long, with intermissions and featured almost any kind of light BDSM you can imagine.
I played with the two associates at the silent urging of my boss, exposing their cocks under the table, massaging them as I sat close between them. I was doing my part for the company’s image while we waited for the next act to begin on the stage. I didn’t know what to expect and I’ll admit to no real curiosity. My knowledge of BDSM was superficial at best and I had little interest in it. But then there occurred something interesting as two men dressed in the traditional dark gray of theater stage hands brought out a smaller girl.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties but seemed to me exceedingly fragile and very pretty. She had a youthful quality which led me to regard her as a child, rather than the young woman she obviously was. She was nude but for a pair of handcuffs dangling from each wrist and she wasn’t yet bound in any way. The girl stood silently in the middle of the stage, lit by spotlights from above, and the two gray men had been replaced by a woman. She was offering a short riding crop for auction in a sharp, sing-song voice.
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